


Young and a Menace

by cylobaby27



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-10
Updated: 2018-08-10
Packaged: 2019-06-25 14:31:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15642681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cylobaby27/pseuds/cylobaby27
Summary: MI-5 agent Alfred Pennyworth wakes up in a strange cave. A strange selection of boys in brightly colored body armor tell him that he's in the future. And that aliens did it. And that he grows up to be their butler.Somehow, this last part is the most alarming.





	Young and a Menace

It was the smell that told Alfred that something was wrong.

When he’d gone to bed in his London flat, it had been to the smell of Mrs. Singh’s curry. It was a strong smell, and not one that faded during just a few hours of sleep. The scents surrounding him now were…odd. Sterile and wild all at once. He took a deep breath through his nose, keeping his eyes closed. Sterility is definitely the strongest smell. Someone has been disinfecting something nearby. Beyond that, though, is a smell he didn’t realize he would recognize.

When he was younger, just starting university, he had traveled to Yorkshire to explore some caves with some other people from his student troupe. That was what he smelled now, the strange, unique scent of wet stone far beneath the ground.

With the mystery of the scents settled, a noise nearby brought him directly back into his body. He was lying down on a hard, cold surface. And there was someone nearby. No, two. No. More. Several.

“Shit, he’s waking up.”

And that was that.

Alfred opened his eyes and sat up quickly, hands coming up in front of him to ward off any attack. He was sitting on a stainless steel table in, as he’d guessed, the middle of a cave. The ceiling soared high overhead, and dark movements in the shadows suggested local wildlife. Bats, possibly.

He was surrounded. There were three of them. Younger than he would have expected. Only one seemed Alfred’s own age of twenty-five. The other two seemed to be teenagers, though one might not have even been that old.

Unlike most of the adversaries Alfred had encountered, they didn’t have an internally cohesive uniform. Though they were all wearing state-of-the-art body armor, the eldest sported blue accents, the middle red, and the youngest a garish combination of red, yellow, and green.

“What am I doing here?” Alfred asked, pushing his accent into something more plebian and making his eyes wide with fear. Think early Edgar from _King Lear_.

“Alfred?” the one in red asked, stepping closer. “Alfred Pennyworth?”

They knew his name. That wasn’t a good sign. “And you’re foreign agents, obviously,” he said, dropping the fearful act. “The Queen doesn’t approve of this sort of interior decorating.”

“Yeah, it’s definitely Alfred,” said the man in blue.

“But not our Alfred,” said the youngest. “What did you do, Drake?”

“Why are you blaming this on me?” the middle, Drake, said. “I wasn’t even watching him. The cameras showed him picking up whatever that thing was Bruce sent through the portal.”

“Then perhaps you _should_ have been watching him.”

“It’s no one’s fault,” the eldest said soothingly. “Alfred, it’s us. Do you not remember who we are?”

This wasn’t an interrogation tactic Alfred had been trained for. “I’m sorry to say I do not,” Alfred said. “Sorry to disappoint. Perhaps you should let me go.”

“You’re not a prisoner, Alfred.”

“Do you believe that if you say my name enough times, I’ll begin to trust you?” Alfred asked, raising an eyebrow.

The man laughed. “Sorry. I think I’m just trying to remind myself who you are. You’re not a prisoner. You’re our…friend. You’ve had an accident. I think.”

“The kind of accident where I was moved out of my bed in my flat and moved to an operating table in a vast cave?” He looked down at himself. “And into an ill-fitting suit?”

“Still sassy,” the man muttered.

Drake stepped forward, nudging the eldest with an elbow. “The kind of accident where you’ve forgotten who we are. Or maybe you’ve been brought here accidentally. We’re still figuring that part out.”

“Sounds like quite the task.” Alfred nodded thoughtfully, reaching with the hand the two couldn’t see toward the tray of operating tools near the cot. A hand grasped his wrist before he could reach the scalpel.

The boy scowled at him, twisting his wrist to the edge of discomfort and pushing the rolling tray away with his foot. “We’re not going to hurt you,” he said.

Alfred stayed still. His wrist was only slightly aching in the current position, but he knew that if he tried to twist free, it would likely snap the bone. “Forgive me if I have difficulty believing that. Who are you? Their accents are American, but yours isn’t. How young are they recruiting for Mossad these days?”

“Damian, let him go,” the eldest said. The kid complied, still frowning. “Alfred, we didn’t kidnap you, or whatever you’re thinking. It’s 2018. Look around. You’re a sharp guy.”

“With a lot of more knowledge of espionage than we expected,” Drake muttered.

The man ignored the aside. “Does this tech look like something even your worst enemies have right now? You’re in the future. Or you’ve been de-aged. Or it’s an alternate universe. Either way, this isn’t your time, and these aren’t your rules. You’re going to have to trust us.”

Alfred looked around. England was at the forefront of military tech, only working behind America and Japan, but even those two tech superpowers didn’t have the money or resources to populate this cave. Around him, what Alfred had assumed was a torture chamber seemed to be in actuality a high-tech medical lab, full of shiny machines whose purposes he could only guess. Beyond was a wall of screens in a half-circle in front of a black chair. The definition on the screens, which showed various security footage and scrolling charts of data, was higher than anything Alfred had ever seen, and that wasn’t even considering the expansive keyboard below it.

Looking closer, Alfred realized that the boys’ armor wasn’t simply advanced—it was practically extraterrestrial. The weave of the body armor was so tight that it could have been satin if it weren’t for its obvious thickness.

There were two options here. Either Alfred had been abducted by a secret organization that was eons ahead of current technology, and had chosen a mid-level MI-5 agent instead of just snatching the Queen from her bed for unknown reasons…or they were telling the truth.

“If I’m not a prisoner,” Alfred said finally, “I could use a cuppa.”

 

#

 

The boys stayed close on Alfred’s heels as they led him through a secret passageway into a mansion large enough to hold dozens of Alfred’s flat complex. There were lush tapestries on the walls, finely woven rugs on the ground, and intricately carved dark wooden furniture polished to a shine. If it hadn’t been for the accents, he might have thought the house belonged to someone in the British gentry. Americans could rarely balance this sense of luxury without tipping into the gaudy. The décor here was a bit stodgy, but otherwise not far from what Alfred would have designed.

They sat around a small kitchen table while the eldest, who introduced himself as Dick during their walk, heated a kettle. He brought over teacups, and poured the tea for each of them. Drake—whose name was apparently actually Tim—immediately took a sip, though Dick and Damian both reached for the cream and sugar to alter the drink.

Alfred took a hesitant sip, expecting American swill, and then blinked. “This is my favorite brand,” he said, surprised. “Brockley Breakfast.”

The boys exchanged a look he couldn’t read. “Is it?” Dick asked neutrally.

Alfred took another sip, and then narrowed his eyes. He’d been chewing over their vague comments as they’d walked, and the tea helped clear his head enough to see what had been masked. “You know me,” he said. “Some version of me. Is that right? That’s why you knew my name, and knew I wasn’t supposed to be here. I’m in the…future.” He took another drink from his tea, a gulp this time. It burned his mouth slightly, but God, these were desperate times.

“We do know you,” Dick said.

Tim nudged him with an elbow. “Shut up, Dick.” He looked at Alfred. “Sorry. We have some standard paradox protocols for when things like this happen.”

Alfred raised an eyebrow. “Quite,” he said drolly. “Unfortunately, I tend to prefer knowing what situations I’ve landed into. I’ve tentatively decided to believe your story about…time travel, or universe manipulation. But I need more information, or I’ll search it out on my own. How does that sound?”

“You don’t know what can happen when time streams get disrupted,” Tim said darkly.

“Perhaps not, but I _do_ know that ignorance can get one killed. Don’t treat me like a child.”

“We’re trying to get in touch with Bruce to figure out what it was you touched, but he’s…hard to reach right now.”

“I don’t know who Bruce is,” Alfred reminded him. “Perhaps I can help find the solution that will send me back to where I’m supposed to be. I have no interest in remaining here any longer than necessary. Looking at where I seem to have ended up, I’m tempted to believe that this is some sort of alternate universe. Children don’t dress like that where I’m from.”

“Vigilantes only came onto the scene around twenty years ago,” Dick said. “You wouldn’t have known any in your time. How old are you?”

“My twenties,” Alfred said.

Tim sighed. “You don’t have to be coy. We’re not gathering information to hurt you.”

“Have you heard a phrase about a pot and a kettle? I see no reason to lay my life bare to you when you have all the cards already.”

“We’re trying to help you,” Dick said.

“You have to trust us,” Damian added.

Alfred lifted both brows and looked down his nose at the child. “Do I?”

The boy blinked. “The real you does,” he said, a hint of a pout on his lips.

“Dear God,” he said suddenly. “I’m not your father, am I?”

“No,” the boy sniffed, clearly still offended. “You’re just the butler.”

“You must be joking,” he said, horrified. “You’re attempting to tell me that I grow up to work as a _butler_?”

Dick glared at Damian, but then turned back to Alfred. “Wasn’t your dad the Wayne butler before you?” Dick asked. He turned to Tim. “Maybe this _is_ a different universe version of Alfred.”

“No,” Alfred sighed. “My da is the butler for the Wayne family. An archaic practice, and a path I never planned on following. I’ve spent my life attempting to build a career away from that family practice. I’ve been in England since I started university, and have no plans to return to America to polish silver for some billionaire brats. Honestly, I wouldn’t be qualified even if I wanted to. Who needs a butler with MI-5 training?”

“You’re in British intelligence?” Damian asked, surprise jolting him from his tantrum.

They must not have been trying to kidnap him. That would have been the first information they’d gathered. “I am. I’ve worked long and hard to get where I am. I was in the British Guard right out of uni. I’ve never even considered following my da’s footsteps. My plan for if I get injured in the field is to go back into _acting_ , not fly across the pond to be someone’s servant!” He shook his head. “Are you the Waynes now? That’s how you know me? When on earth did the Waynes become…” He waved a hand at their uniforms.

“Around twenty years ago,” Dick said again.

“And no, they’re not Waynes,” Damian cut in. “Just me.”

“Look again at my literal passport,” Tim snapped.

“Guys, that’s not important right now,” Dick said. “Damian, this isn’t the time.”

“It seems to me it’s exactly the time,” Damian said. “Clearly we need to make some clearer delineations as to who is family and who is not. The primary indicator should be whether they _want_ to be part of it.” He gave Alfred a nasty side-glare.

The door to the kitchen burst open and another man walked in. He was close to Alfred and Dick in age, and was the first person in the future Alfred had met so far who wasn’t wearing body armor. “Now, what’s so important that you interrupted my night o—Who is that?”

“Jason,” Dick said. “This is Alfred.”

Jason whistled. “Shit,” he said. “That’s wild. Time travel, alternate universe, or other?”

“Still determining,” Dick said.

“Do you remember us?” Jason asked him directly.

Alfred shook his head.

Jason laughed. “I apologize for whatever ridiculous shit these guys have already put you through. Damn, if I could pick the three I’d least want to welcome me to the future. Where are Cass and Steph?”

“On their way too,” Dick said. “They were on patrol when we got the alarms from the cave that something had happened, and they had some things to wrap up first.”

Jason looked at the cup of tea in front of Alfred, and then pulled a flask from his pocket. “Did they at least offer to spike that for you?”

“Come on, Jason, it’s—” Dick began, but Alfred cut him off.

“Yes, please,” he said, holding out the cup. At this point, if they were going to poison him, they would have already. “Are you another Wayne—or not Wayne?”

“Somewhere in the middle,” Jason said, tipping a hefty pour of amber liquor into his cup. “Depends on the day. How are you holding up?”

“As well as can be expected,” Alfred hedged.

“He’s been less cooperative than I’d have expected,” Dick said, giving Alfred a frustrated glance. “We didn’t want to lock him up, but he’s been asking a lot of questions. If this is time travel, we’ll need to fix that before we send him back.”

“Of course he’s asking a lot of questions,” Jason said with a shrug. “He used to MI-5.”

Damian frowned. “Why does Todd know that and I didn’t?”

“It’s in his files,” Tim said.

“You’ve read Alfred’s files?” Damian asked, aghast.

“Alfred has files?” Dick asked, and then shook his head. “Of course he has files. Everyone has files.”

“You could have just asked him,” Jason pointed out. “He wasn’t keeping it a secret. He just doesn’t share much. He told me about it before I died the first time.”

Before he what now?

Damian folded his arms. “I assumed he would inform me of anything I needed to know,” he said.

“Anyway, what’s the plan?” Jason asked Dick. “Why are you gathering the team?”

“We need to look after him until Bruce gets back on-planet—”

“On _planet_?” Alfred interrupted.

“He’s, uh,” Dick said, glancing at Jason, who shrugged, “off-world right now.”

“Is he an _astronaut_? Who is this Bruce you keep talking about? Is he in charge of your…operation?”

“It’s not really an ‘operation,’ but that’s as good a way as any to think about it. He’s Bruce Wayne. The real Wayne, the one you raised.”

“The one I _what now_?”

Dick waved off the question. “He…saves the world. The universe, more broadly. Right now he’s involved in some alien battle half a lightyear away, and he sent back some materials for us to analyze. Clearly whatever he sent back had unexpected effects.”

“Not just time travel. It had to be _alien_ time travel,” Jason sighed.

“Dear God, this is a lot,” Alfred said, taking a large sip of his spiked drink.

“You’re really throwing him in the deep end, here,” Jason said. “Should you really all be crowding him? And plus the girls? You’ll overwhelm him.”

“We gave him tea,” Tim pointed out, defensive.

“It’s _Alfred_ ,” Dick said. “We can’t just leave him alone. I figured everyone would want to be here for him.”

“This isn’t our Alfred. He doesn’t even know us. He doesn’t need us all around clucking over him.”

“But he’s—”

“He’s right,” Alfred interrupted. “This all is…not helping. Do you see any immediate recourse for this? Any immediate way to send me back to my time?”

Dick shrugged. “Not exactly. You might just snap back in your own time, but we’ll probably be waiting for Bruce to contact us and tell us what we’re dealing with.”

“Then there’s no reason I can’t have some time to myself, is there? This did wake me from my sleep.” He looked down. “I was wearing pajamas before I showed up here.”

“Of course,” Dick said, softening. “Tim, could you show him to his room? Or one of the guest rooms? It might be weird for him to be in his own room.”

“I can handle it,” Alfred told him.

“Okay,” Tim said. “Alfred, do you want any snacks to take with you? Coffee?”

“No one else drinks coffee to go to sleep,” Damian sneered.

Alfred just shook his head. “No, thanks. Just a bed, please.”

 

#

 

The bedroom was as lush as the rest of the manor, more like a hotel suite than the small bedroom Alfred had left behind in the past. Now that he knew what to look for, he realized the room smelled just like the cleaner formula his da used. At some point in the future, Alfred must pick it up.

A butler. Honestly. After everything he’d done, everything he’d fought for, he’d someday decide to throw it all away to follow in his da’s footsteps? What went so terribly wrong that he thought this was the life he wanted? Playing traditional servant to a house full of child vigilantes.

Once Tim’s footsteps had long since retreated, Alfred went through the drawers and closet of his bedroom. The closet was full of identical suits, with only one small corner devoted to anything worth wearing. He shed the tight suit he was wearing—he’d clearly lost muscle mass as he’d aged—in favor of a pair of equally tight jeans and a plain black undershirt.

He couldn’t find his ID—maybe it looked different in the future—but he did find a stack of cash at the back of his bathroom sink. Smart hiding spot, especially since his future self was the butler. No one else would have a need to scrounge back there.

He did a quick count. $1000. That was enough for now.

He also found, to his surprise, a knife in one of the sock drawers. (There was more than one sock drawer. His future self was an embarrassment.) The blade, sharp and small, was likely a remnant from his time at MI-5. Alfred couldn’t imagine a butler needing a knife like this, no matter how eclectic his masters were.

When would Alfred get this knife? It was strange to consider, and he pushed the thought out of his head.

The security around the perimeter of the Manor was better than anything British intelligence had access to in his time, but it all seemed to be coded to recognize his voice, eyes, and fingerprints. It took a matter of minutes to pry open the control panel in his room and then slip out the window without activating the alarm.

 

#

 

Alfred had only visited Wayne Manor once in the last decade. After he’d left for uni, he had put America in the past. He missed his da, of course, but he had no interest in tying himself to Gotham when the rest of the world was at his fingertips. To his young mind, the transition from the Gotham airport to Wayne Manor had been sudden and magical.

In reality, on foot, the trek seemed to be unending.

He could see the pointed roofs of the big city in the distance. At his current pace, allowing for the hilly terrain and the ancient hiking shoes he’d found in under the bed, he would make it there within two hours. It was longer than he’d hoped, but there hadn’t been a way to hotwire a car from the garage without alerting the house he was leaving.

He’d been walking for a half hour already, leaving the sprawling manor and all of its strange inhabitants far behind.

A motorcycle slowed beside him. The engine popped and rattled in the quiet street. Already anticipating what he’d find, Alfred looked over.

Jason was cruising beside him, his visor flipped up so Alfred could see his face. “’Sup,” he said.

Alfred kept walking. “That was quicker than I expected. Did someone check in on my room?”

Jason snorted. He kept the motorcycle rolling forward, stable through his balance despite the slow speed. “No. They all think you’re sound asleep. I just got lucky.”

Alfred hummed. “I’d considered taking the woods, but America has some disturbing wildlife, and I couldn’t risk losing my way. I thought perhaps some kindly driver would take pity on a hitchhiker, but no one has passed by.”

“No one would have stopped anyway. Gotham isn’t that sort of town. Besides, with those clothes you look like you just robbed a body a size too small. People here aren’t stupid.”

“Civilians don’t usually notice that sort of thing.”

“Here they do, or they get killed.”

Alfred finally stopped walking and turned to him. “What kind of bloody crazy timeline have I ended up in?”

Jason stopped the bike and tilted his head. “Come on, hitchhiker. Hop on.”

“If I’d wanted a ride from one of you, I would have asked,” Alfred pointed out.

“You really want to walk all the way to Gotham?”

“You’re not going to take me back to the manor?”

“Trust me. I know a thing or two about wanting to get away from that place. Where were you trying to get?”

“I hadn’t quite planned that far,” Alfred admitted.

“How about a bar? I know a place that’s open until dawn.”

“God, yes,” Alfred said, and got on the back of the motorcycle.

“You want my helmet?” Jason asked, moving to unbuckle it.

Alfred laughed. “I’d bloody think not,” he said. “What’s the point of riding a bike if you can’t feel it?”

“A man after my own heart,” Jason said, and revved the engine. Alfred barely had time to wrap his arms around the man’s waist before the motorcycle leaped forward.

 

#

 

The bar was an absolute dive. Alfred’s steps made quiet noises as each footfall needed to be pulled from the sticky floor. Though it was nearing three in the morning, there were still Gothamites at most of the tables, and scattered around the bar. The lights were dim, though whether it was for ambience or to hide the grime, Alfred couldn’t tell. Possibly both.

Jason led them to a booth near the back and sat on the side that gave him an eye on the door. Alfred frowned, but took the opposite side. Usually, he refused to put his back to the door. From Jason’s bulk and confident movements, though, Alfred suspected he was with someone who could hold their own equally in a fight, and would keep an eye on any aggressors coming toward them.

Alfred hated to admit it, but he thought Jason would be able to beat _him_ in a fight. Alfred was not a hand-to-hand expert, preferring espionage work, but he’d been trained to hold his own. His occasional sessions with MI-5’s trainer likely hadn’t put him near Jason’s weight class.

A waitress walked over to the table. She was wearing flannel and jeans, and didn’t bother to hide the fact it was three in the morning from her voice. “What can I get you?” She looked at Alfred.

“Gin and tonic, please.”

“The usual for you?” she asked Jason, who nodded.

When the waitress walked back to the bar, Alfred asked, “You come here a lot?”

“I live nearby,” he said. “If you had my job, you’d drink too.”

“You’re like Dick and the others?” Alfred confirmed.

Jason nodded. “It’s more complicated than that, but essentially. Where are we at in your story? You’re at MI-5. Have you moved to Peckham yet?”

“I…looked at flats last week,” Alfred admitted. “This is odd.”

Jason shrugged and said, “Honestly, this stuff barely phases me these days. At least you’re not dead.”

Alfred remembered his comment earlier. “Does that…happen often to you?”

“Once or twice.” Jason smiled, but it seemed weak. “But I’m guessing you don’t want to talk about that stuff, or you wouldn’t have bolted. Did the mother-henning freak you out?”

“I appreciate that they were all trying to help, but I’m capable of operating on my own,” Alfred said. “I don’t know what’s happening, but I wasn’t going to sit around while a bunch of strangers hovered over me, waiting for me to age fifty years. I’m not the type to sit around while someone else finds the answers. Ah, cheers,” he added when the waitress dropped off their drinks.

“You’re just the type who drinks away the problems,” Jason said, taking a sip of his scotch.

“Give me a bloody break,” Alfred laughed. “I’m still processing. I’ll figure out a plan in the morning.”

“Cheers to that,” Jason said.

They drank in surprisingly comfortable silence for a while. As Alfred had suspected, Jason kept an eye on the door and the other patrons, though he masked it well.

Alfred, meanwhile, focused on his drink. It was a technique he’d been taught by some older members of the agency. When everything was overwhelming, focus on the present. Taste what you taste, feel what you feel, and let your subconscious wrangle the problem for you.

“The Waynes have a lot of resources,” Alfred said finally.

Jason nodded, still watching the rest of the bar.

“If they notice I’m missing, they’ll find me,” he said. “I wouldn’t be able to duck them in this world, not when I don’t know what tech I’m fighting against.”

“That’s probably true, though you might have a fighting chance if they keep underestimating you,” Jason said. “You shouldn’t run, though.”

Alfred raised an eyebrow.

Jason pointed at him. “Now that’s creepy. You still do that, but scarier.” He shrugged. “Look, they care about you. They really are trying to help you, and they’re probably the best people on the planet to do it. They’re only overbearing because they care. God, I can’t believe I just said that out loud.”

“I don’t know them,” Alfred pointed out.

“No, you don’t,” Jason agreed easily. “But they know you. They love you. They would never have pulled that shit tonight with a stranger. They put a lot on you because you’ve always been there to catch them. They expected you to quietly handle things the way you always have. You’re the person they lean on—you’re just not usually also the person in trouble.”

“Foolish,” Alfred said. “I’m clearly not the man they knew.”

“No, but they’ve never had to live without that man before,” Jason said.

“You don’t seem to have as much trouble differentiating,” Alfred commented.

“Yeah, well, I make a point never to expect anything from anybody.” He took a quick sip of his scotch, but he couldn’t hide the pained look in his eyes. Alfred wondered whether his statement was really true, especially when it came to his future self. “Look, I’ve been through shit too. People treat you the way they’ve always treated you until they have something slap them in the face to show them that you’re different. You’re not obligated to stay—or become—the person they loved. You lost that person too. Or, in your case, haven’t even met them yet. They can’t expect anything else from you.”

There was a vibration from Jason’s side of the table, something strong enough that Alfred could hear it. Jason pulled a thin black rectangle from his pocket and held it to his ear. “Yeah?” he answered, and Alfred had to suppress a twitch. Americans.

Jason listened for a few moments, and then said, “Yeah, he’s still with me. I’ll bring him back.”

He hung up, and shrugged unrepentantly when he found Alfred glaring at him across the booth. “Come on,” he said. “You really thought we were going to let you wander off without a babysitter?”

“Condescending ass,” Alfred said, shooting back the rest of his gin and tonic.

“Hey, at least I took you out for drinks. They would have tucked you in with more tea or hot cocoa,” Jason pointed out. He drank the rest of his glass and stood up. “Let’s go. I’ll take the long route back, if you want.”

“See that you do,” Alfred said icily.

 

#

 

Alfred was getting quite tired of people staring at him like he was a ghost. Though, to be fair, he was staring back like he was seeing a man dressed as a giant bat in a cape.

If Alfred had been impressed by Jason’s bulk, Bruce Wayne was a virtual tank.

He loomed in the cave Alfred had woken up in like a shadow come to life. If it weren’t for the concerned expression he quickly masked, he might have been intimidating. On some level, though, Alfred realized that he was the same as the children. When he looked at Alfred, he was seeing someone else.

“We didn’t expect you back so soon,” Jason said. “Didn’t you take the jets?”

“I altered the portal tech to allow human travel as soon as I got Dick’s message,” Bruce said. “The rest of the team can handle the rest of the fallout.” He shook his head. “No one was supposed to touch the artifact I sent back until I had the chance to examine it, but it seems that part of my message didn’t make it in time.”

He shot a glare at Alfred, who shrugged. “Not actually me,” he pointed out.

The man shook his head and continued, “Luckily, Clark made fast friends with the priest of the tribe, and he walked me through the reversal process.”

“Thank God,” Dick said.

Damian nodded. “It’s fortunate you came back when you did, Father, or we might have been chasing Pennyworth across the city. Did Dick inform you that he snuck out?”

“I’m not a child who snuck out from being grounded,” Alfred pointed out to the youth, who frowned at him.

“I understand this has likely been disturbing for you, Alfred,” Bruce said.

“ _Why_ did it happen?” Alfred asked. “Was I cursed? Brought from another world?”

“The device is how the dictator of the planet I was on stayed young. The artifact reverts the one who touches it back to their physical prime. For the dictator, it was effective immortality.”

“But he wouldn’t even have his memories,” Tim commented. “Sounds like an ineffective system.”

“He left a series of notes for himself. He knew how to manipulate his past self into becoming the person he wanted to be again,” Bruce said. “But that’s not important. What matters is that the artifact can reverse the effects as well. For the dictator, the reversal caused immediate death, but we don’t believe that will happen to Alfred.”

“Jolly good,” Alfred said drolly.

Bruce ignored him. “It should bring him back to his older self with no ill effect.”

“Will his younger self remember being here?” Jason asked. “Because I get the feeling that wouldn’t be a good thing.”

Alfred nudged him with a sharp elbow. Jason ducked slightly to mitigate the hit, but didn’t bother blocking it.

“Just saying,” Jason said. “Our Alfred might end up being a monk in Tibet, as far away from Gotham as he could get.”

“None of this will change the past,” Bruce assured him. “His body and mind were scrubbed back to a certain time, rather than his physical form coming forward into the future.”

Everyone looked relieved. Dick clapped a hand on Damian’s shoulder and squeezed it.

“So, this version of me, the one who learned everything tonight, will cease to have ever existed?” Alfred asked.

Bruce nodded, solemn. “If my calculations are correct.”

He would disappear. The last few hours, as absurd as they had been, would become dust in the time stream. Alfred, the man he was now, would vanish.

Though he knew that his presence was an anomaly, the idea still felt disturbingly like…mortality.

Other than Jason, who was watching him carefully, no one else seemed alarmed by the idea. Alfred was an interloper, a young buck who didn’t know them and didn’t care for them. The obsessive care they’d shown him since he had arrived had been in service to the version of him they had known. To them, Alfred as he was now was simply a disturbance that needed correcting.

Jason stepped forward, seemingly casual, but he ended up right next to Alfred. They didn’t brush shoulders, but it was the ghost of a touch, and it helped Alfred stabilize himself and look around at the crowded room again.

He’d never had so many people care about him as deeply as the people in this cave seemed to, though each of them cared only for someone he was not. Is this why he eventually followed in his father’s footsteps? To find a group of people who would rely on him?

“Well,” Alfred said, clearing his throat. “I suppose that’s that. What do I have to do?”

“It should be simple,” Bruce said, retrieving the artifact—a strange, stone wand—with gloved hands. He made some quick adjustments to it with more ease than one would expect when handling an alien artifact. He shifted pieces that had seemed stuck in place, and then gave it a final look. Then, he nodded. “This will do it. Grab it with your hand, right here.” He indicated the middle section, slightly too wide for a human hand to fit around.

Alfred glanced over at Jason, who gave him a quick wink. “No more crazies in body armor,” Jason reminded him in a cajoling voice, though there was a hint of self-aware irony in the words.

“Heaven forbid,” Alfred agreed. No need to waste time on sentimentality.

He reached forward and grabbed the wand.

 

#

 

Alfred opened his eyes. His last thought—a curse he would have never said out loud—was still ringing in his ears. He had known better than to touch anything sent back from one of Master Bruce’s expeditions, but it had started to fall from the transporter, and he’d acted on instinct.

He blinked. He was surrounded by everyone—Masters Bruce, Tim, Damian, Dick, and Jason were all hovering nearby, with Master Jason close enough to catch him if he’d fallen.

“Oh dear,” he said, voice slightly hoarse. “What has happened?”

Master Bruce gently pried the artifact from his hand and set it aside. “Don’t worry about that. Are you all right? What’s the last thing you remember?”

“That,” Alfred said. “Though none of you were here then. I assume some time has passed. Please assure me I didn’t, say, get possessed and go on a rampage.”

Master Jason chuckled and wrapped a hand around his shoulder. The motion started as a companionable slap, but turned into a half-hug. “No rampage. We’ll tell you all about it later,” he assured him. “It’s good to have you back, Alfie.”

Without waiting for Master Jason to step back, Master Dick lunged forward and wrapped Alfred in a hug as well. Master Jason extricated himself with a curse, but his spot was quickly taken by Master Tim. Then, there was a slight pressure from another angle, two feet shorter: Master Damian.

Alfred stood very, very still. He was far too British for such displays of affection. There were…so many arms.

He looked at Master Bruce over Master Dick’s head and raised his eyebrows.

Master Bruce just shrugged. Absolutely no help at all. He’d be sitting down his charge soon to get the full story of just what had caused such a ruckus.

Carefully, Alfred lifted a hand and patted the nearest back he could find. “Ah,” he said, and cleared his throat. “Perhaps I need to make us all a cuppa?”

The hugging lasted another few moments longer, but in the end, Alfred decided perhaps it wasn’t so very terrible.

**Author's Note:**

> Alfred's canon backstory has been changed so many times that there barely is a canon any longer, so I just picked the parts I liked the best!
> 
> I'm on [Tumblr](http://starknjarvis27.tumblr.com/)!


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